Piracy of love
by ink-wells
Summary: AU. Early 18th Century. With Piracy over-taking the seas; and disguised as a boy to boot; Hermione has to fool Draco Malfoy, the most infamous pirate of them all, that she is not a stowaway but a rather....inexperienced cook.
1. Evading capture

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Chapter One: Evading capture

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Hermione knew the gentleman would be the perfect victim by the time; he had descended from the dusted his lapels once, before tucking the silk blue hankerchied back into the sleeve of his coat.

"Perfect," Hermione whispered as he crossed the busy street; standing by the curb to let a carriage rattle past, before briskly walking along.

Everybody knew he didn't belong. The morning's excrement still fresh upon the cobbles. The marketplace, with the vendor as dirty as it's owner. Everything about him screamed _outsider; _even to the finely polished shoes that leapt over the filth with ease.

She knew she had to move fast. She could already spot at least three vagrants paying him an unhealthy amount of attention. If she let this one get away; and went home empty handed---she might as well as wave goodbye to one of her limbs. Her father was a cruel, unsatisfied man like that.

Making sure to keep away at least three feet; she began tailing him. Leaping over the exact spots he did; and mirroring his every stride.

More people were beginning to pay attention now; peering over their rotten apples or glaring from the dirt that had been their bed, just hours cursed; knowing that it would only be a matter of minutes before someone reached out and swiped him easy; before her very nose. She re-doubled her efforts; skirting around a small legless boy as he made a grab for her ankle. "Please miss!"

The cry made her snort in disbelief; but made her smile all the same. She had always wondered what it felt like to be refered to as miss, since the very day she had set eyes on one.

* * *

Hermione had been six; her hand held tight in her mothers; as she gaped at the magnificent horse charging down the street. And then, a coachman had appeared out of nowhere- opening the carriage door with ease and out had stepped the most loveliest woman Hermione had seen in her short life.

Oh, how her hair had gleamed in the mid-day sun! Rosy pearl-bud lips set in a dead-panned scowl as her glorious green eyes scanned the distance.

Hermione's mother had stopped as well; her hand holding Hermione even tighter as the lady, so young in years, and so prime in blood, set eyes upon her daughter.

Eveline Granger had known that Hermione was a beauty from the moment; she had pushed her out of her womb.

If Hermione had been born a high-ranking lady; then she needn't have worried. But she hadn't. Hermione had been born a low commoner. And beauty amongst the dirt and scum of the city was a very bad thing. It attracted attention---Attention that a low commoner could not afford to dabble with.

Sometimes even when she glanced into her husband's eyes; she had caught him staring at their daughter. Wondering---always wondering---that with Hermione's beauty she could easily become the most well-paid harlot in London. Soon her reputation would proceed so much further- and she would not have to cater scoundrels any longer. She could move up in the world; serving barons, dukes, and even Lords or the Kings servicemen.

Eveline knew that his heart was in the right place; in order of wanting to see his daughter succeed. But Eveline did not wish to see her pride and joy; whore herself to desperate men.

To let her legs be thrown up in the air; as a different man, each night, decided to pump his seed into her furthermore. And so Eveline, very carefully began her plan. She actively encouraged Hermione to go and play in the mud; with her friends as much possible.

Every day, Hermione would return a mess; muddied and caked in dirt. Her dress ripped and torn as she beamed innocently up at her parents.

Her husband did not question the dirt-- it was expected for a commoner to be covered in it, night and day. But as the days passed into months and the months passed into years- he began to forget that Hermione was a beauty. Instead all he saw, was a pale skinny little thing, dressed in rags and always with two streaks of mud across her face.

Eveline manged to convince herself, that Hermione was a beauty no longer, as childhood wove into adolescence and her dear daughter shot up in height.

To any passing person, she was skin and bones, with matted hair and deep soulful eyes. Nothing special. The boys stopped looking. Ladies that happened to catch glimpse of her; stopped looking envious and her husband ceased talks of letting their daughter whore herself.

"No-one would want to bed a bony, ugly little thing!" he had barked, and Eveline had breathed a sigh of relief from her bed.

Over the years Eveline's health had deterioated; and the bouts of resting in bed had only grown longer and longer. She had resented her disability; knowing that it would only put pressure on Hermione to find more food, more money, more clothes and like a true commoner; she had never complained. Setting out to work, long before dawn and arriving well past sunset.

Hermione had never looked more gaunt or pale. Deep waxwork shadows eclipsing her lower eyes and her hair more matted than ever.

Hermione, her sweet, precious life.

* * *

"Please miss!"

The shout of the young boy had attracted the attention of the wealthy businessman; and he swung around at once; dubiously searching for the "miss" being shouted for. Hermione cursed yet again; and sqautted behind a box of rotting merchandise littering the street at once.

Every Tuesday, the ships at the port nearby docked; letting all it goods be unloaded upon English soil if they had survived any Piracy hijacks on sea. Most of the silk, was full of holes; the rats making mince meat of the soft cashmere substance. The fruit didn't fare any better; maggots worming holes into the juicy core.

After one last suspicious look around; the man swivelled and was on his way again, weaving his way through the bumbling, foul smelling people.

Hermione frowned; her quick eyes and clever brain working out that he was headed in the direction of the port. Once there; she would have no chance to rob him, that much was clear. The pickpockets whom strolled the docks were terrortorial, and did not appreciate girls or newcomers from stealing their quarry.

Hermione had to act fast, if she had any chance of acquiring plunder at all. She darted out from behind the crates; running full pelt. "Sir! Sir!" she cried desperately.

As if on autopilot; he slowly swivelled around, his eyes wide in mock surprise as he saw a skinny girl with wayward brown hair pelt towards him. He placed two arms before his person; but in the end; it did nothing to stop the collision. They both went down in a jumble of arms and legs.

"Oh, I'm sorry sir, " she breathed on top of him and did the upmost bizarre thing. She hugged him! She actually placed her filthy arms around him- and _hugged _him!

"Get off me!" he growled; shoving her away before standing up; and dusting himself off.

To his surprise; the little rascal did not explode into expletives as he expected. Instead she bowed low to the ground; thick strands of her nearly touching the cobbles as she whispered- "So sorry for that sir-- I thought you to be my pa! Well, have a jolly good day sir--so sorry to ruin your morning-"

And with that, she was off. Cantering down the long winding alleys and darkened streets as she ran to greet her mother. Leaving the gentlemen rather perplexed to why a ill-dressed girl; with the whiff of death about her, thought him to be her father. Could she not see the fine linen that he wore?

And had she not refered to him as _sir _when she first called? Believeing him to be her pa? Now that was oddly curious.

The nagging suspicion to why she had thrown herself upon him was confirmed, when he patted his breast pocket. His wallet was no longer there! The blasted girl had taken it! Why, there was enough valuables in there to feed a starving army!

"STOP!" he bellowed. "IN THE NAME OF THE LORD- STOP THAT GIRL! SHE HAS TAKEN MY WALLET!"

The three boys, ranging from six to sixteen, and all part of the same begging troupe were only too happy to oblige and give chase. Although perhaps their motive was ulterior then to see a villian brought to justice. They were villians too-- but playing the hero was just as nice.

Especially if it meant a substantional amount of reward money at the end of it.

Jack, the oldest of the three looked down upon the youngest, whom had managed to halt Hermione earlier by her ankle but hadn't been strong enough to hold on.

"Stay here," he said, flicking the younger boy's page hat before he set off again; the third boy--although a bit dim-witted, more than made up for in brawns---followed him.

There was a girl's face, that their fists were just itching to meet this glorious morning.

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A/N: Reviews make a writer do crazy things like-

a) respond to them

b) post chapters quicker

Please review.


	2. Run for yer life!

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Chapter Two: Run for yer life!

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"Mother! Mother!"

She burst into their shack with glee; brandishing the purse she had managed to swipe. For a brief while; two wiry lads had been on her tail, but with her back-hand knowledge of all the near-by shortcuts and outstanding street smarts, she had managed to loose them by the corner of St James's marketplace-- grand by name, but rather lack-lustre in nature.

Her expectant face fell into a scowl; when her eyes fell upon her father in front of the roaring fire, entertaining yet another bulbous swine with a bucket of ale and two silver chalices. Chalices that had been stolen before she was birthed, and only brought out in formal occasions for special "guests."

Considering that nil, the fact that her father had brought out the chalices yet again; suggested he was searching for a son-in-law, more _worthy_ than the previous one.

And in "worthy", he meant a commoner with a high income. Two shillings a day preferably.

The swine was currently eyeing her muddied grey dress with an unpleasant leer; and when her dubious brown eyes met his swollen, pig-eyes own, he raised his chalice in a mock salute and took a gulp, without letting his eyes disconnect from hers once.

"Father, if you'll excuse me," she muttered before storming into the back room and slamming the door with an almighty _bang! _She refused to let her eyes water; so she blinked rapidly, cursing her father nineteen to dozen as she paced furiously back and forth.

"That _swine! _He dare let his daughter be unceremoniously unclothed by her suitor's eyes before his very face-"

A low groan from the other side of the small room; sent her spinning around in fear before gasping aloud when her mother's drawn pale face peeked over the thin blanket covering her frail body. "Hermione dear," she tried to smile but let out a whooping cough in it's stead. "Come sit by your ma, will ya? It seems I see less of you as each month passes by!"

Hermione threw herself upon the floor by the haystack her mother was resting on. Taking care to hold her hand gently, as a few tears slipped free.

"Mother. When I steal, I steal for the well-being of this family, not because I enjoy it. I have saved three pounds now! With one more, we shall be able to afford a doctor to leech away your illness! You will be as fit as a horse, ma! Wouldn't that be nice?"

Eveline held onto Hermione's hand tightly, although there was not much strength used at all. She made move to run her hand through Hermione's hair but found the energy needed too much.

" It's too late for me, Hermione." And squeezed her thumb tightly. "The pain triplefolds by the day, and it will be not long before I _beg _for death to come and take me."

Hermione opened protesting lips but Eveline shushed her gently, by rubbing the back of her hand soothingly.

" I am well aware there is a suitor out there for you, who after paying for you will think it enough to treat you anyway he pleases. I didn't stop you from becoming a harlot to be treated like this, dear child. And I want you to promise--promise that you'll run away and be free. Marry a man, because your heart says so, and not because you were forced. I don't want you to be trapped in a loveless marriage like-"

She stopped herself, taking in a deep breath that made her ribs rattle and her body shake.

"Like you?" Hermione put in, her eyes wide, and her fingers to her lips in wonder. "But why-?"

"Why didn't I leave him?" She laughed dryly, before turning away and vomiting a pool of blood over her bed; not wanting her daughter to see such weakness.

A dribble remained as she turned back, her eyes awash with a watery sheen. " Hermione, you must realise, that once your father was a different man. He kissed me with passion; made love to me with skill---but then the sovereign changed and the new King's laws were harsh to us all. The times became tough, and he turned to drink and rage. I believe somewhere under all that, there is the man I once fell in love with. And I can never, ever abandon that part of him or loose faith. I believe his true self will return to me one day. I see it in his eyes sometimes."

Hermione gulped with pain as she heard her mother's words. "But you told me true love doesn't exist," she breathed.

Eveline gazed sorrowfully at the far wall, her watery eyes not quite meeting Hermione's.

"I lied."

* * *

Hermione closed the door to her mother's room behind her quietly. For a moment, she rested her forehead briefly upon the coarse wood before the harsh voice of her father demanded,"What is it? What have you done to upset your mother?"

Under all that brutality, Hermione could almost hear the concern. _Almost. _

Maybe a part of him still cared for his wife; but he had lost his rights of a loving family by the first time he had struck his wife after a long bout at the pub. It had only happened once; but Hermione would never forgive him the terror he had handed to her, when her mother lay unconscious upon the floor for six whole minutes. She had only been six at the time, having just returned with her mother from the marketplace.

And there he had lain in waiting; like a spider on a web; just waiting for the door to creak open....

"Why father," Hermione turned calmly to face the beast of her nightmares. "Would you immediately assume that I have upset mother, when all I have done is close the door behind me?"

She could smell the drink thick in the air and fought the urge to spew the two chunks of stale bread she had munched for breakfast. Her father looked at her with bloodshot eyes, and pointed an accusing finger.

"Are you trying to st-start something here? Because lemme tell you, I won't hesi-hesit-tate to wallop that smirk of that sssilly face of youurss..."

Hermione instead looked sad, looking at her unconcious suitor, his grotesque mouth hanging wide from the rum and the heady heat swelling through the room.

"Whysch yer lookin' ash me like that?" her father slurred, finding the grave expression on his daughter's face hard to handle. "Stop it! I tellish you!"

With a heavy hand, he stretched back his arm and aimed for his daughter. The chalice glanced of her cheek, cutting her shallowly before clattering to the floor. Hermione immediately clutched at her cheek, finding the pain rather disconcerting-- but over-riding that more than anything else was the disbelief.

Her father had put her through much misery through her life; but not once had he aimed a blow with his hand or otherwise towards her. The only other time was a decade ago; when she had lent over her mother's unconscious body weeping which angered him enough to aim a kick at her skull. He had missed, but it hadn't made the bubble of hatred contract any less.

"I HATE YOU!" she yelled, before bursting into her mother's room and moving around; picking up the few possessions she would need.

"Mother, we have to go!" she exclaimed as she searched for a stick to tie her blanket of possessions too. "We'll go to the country! You've always wanted to go there ma, haven't you?"

Outside she heard her father attempting to rise from his chair, but failing repeatedly. She quickly examined her cheek in the reflection of a worn pan, before turning to the haystack once more. "Ma?"

Hermione quickly strode to her mother's resting place and tugged at the thin blanket. She didn't expect how small the blanket's resistance would be and staggered backwards a few steps.

"MA!"

Her desperate cries gave her father incentive enough to finally launch out of his chair. He stumbled to the doorway of his wife'a room; and sobered quickly when he saw Eveline huddled in a ball, with her night gown covered in blood.

"WHAT HAVE YAE DONE?!" he bellowed, lurching forwards in stilted movements. Hermione looked up from her spasming body in the corner, to watch her father drunkenly pull out a dagger from his boot.

"Y'LL DIE, YA HEAR?!" he roared, taking a big swipe of the air with his knife. And by the murderous gleam in the eye; she could tell he meant it this time. Knowing there was no time to grieve; and that her entire life hung in the balance depending upon the next few minutes, she launched forwards, making a grab for the bundle of belongings and rolling sideways to the door. Her father's foot cracked upon her hand the very moment she reached for the bundle; and she howled, wrenching it back whilst with her other hand; she levered herself upwards and towards the exit.

"YOU GET BACK HERE!"

" I AIN'T DONE WITH YOU YET!"

"YE ARE NO DAUGHTER OF MINE!"

The shouts grew quieter and quieter, the further she got away. Occasionally a person would stir on the street beside her; but did nothing to stop her. It was well into the night now, and in this part of town; the only source of light was the moon. She was free. She was free. She was-

_Mmpfhg._

Her furious squeak was muffled as a pair of hands reached out of the darkness and clapped around her mouth. And then she was being dragged into a short dark alley, a dead-end, and where the moon was not strong enough to penetrate the inky black darkness.

"You're trapped," a recognisable voice hissed, that sent fear pumping through Hermione's veins.

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Want to put it to the test? Go ahead, I double, triple dare you :)


	3. Thieves are never beyond Blackmail

lingo--

Milksop = A weak man

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Chapter Three : Thieves are never beyond Blackmail

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His stale breath was enough to make her gag. And he wasn't alone--so he decided to bring the milksop, did he?

"Jack," Hermione gasped, trying desperately to wriggle out of his bone-crushing grasp. "Now isn't the time or place to achieve your little vendetta against me-"

"Oh," Jack sneered. "I get it. You've got places to go, people to see. It _truly _wreaks havoc on my nerves that I've apprehended such an _important _lady-"

Tom, the heavier of the pair holding Hermione hostage, began gurgling out loud although he probably couldn't rub two dimes together to know what was going on. She returned her attention back to Jack; clearly the more dangerous out of the pair and stared him dead straight in the eye.

"OK, so I stole from _one _man this week. He's not rightfully yours, need I point out! Are you honestly going to say, you've been waiting me all this morning since I gave you the slip? Imagine all the potential victims you could have been robbing in that time-"

Hermione gulped as Jack bared his teeth in anger. He didn't seem all that pleased to be reminded that he'd given up lots of bounty just to stake out a girl. Oh, why did she have to go and open her mouth again? Now he was sure to be seething in anger.

" I hate girls," he muttered furiously under his breath before hissing into her ear, "And to think I wanted to make a honest woman out of you!"

Tom looked as dumbstruck as she felt. But considering he looked dumbstruck 99 percent of the time, Hermione safely put it down that he wasn't dumbstruck because of Jack's announcement. Instead she was left to stare blankly into the electric blue eyes of her former childhood friend as he hellishly glowered upon her.

"You.." Hermione spluttered weakly, " Wanted to...marry me?"

She honestly could not see the logic. Jack had been a very _good _childhood friend, but so had nearly every other child in the area. She had spent about the same amount of time with him as she did with the others. And then when it came to puberty- he didn't even _want _to know her. So out of all the zaniest hair-brained schemes in the world, did he have _any _interest in making her his wife? Especially since he "hated" girls so much, that he himself attested to seconds before?

"There's going to be a wedding?!" Tom broke in, his crazy brown eyes rolling into his head. "We should go! We could steal some ale!"

Jack's fingers was beginning to cut of the circulation in her neck; and Hermione was pretty sure if he didn't let go in the next minute or so; then Death with his scythe would soon be beckoning to her from the end of the alleyway.

Jack's eyes shuttered from the pained expression, and deciding this was the right moment to get brutal again; wrenched Hermione forward by the throat before slamming her into the wall.

"Where's the wallet?" Jack roughly demanded, making move to repeat the slamming motion. As if a tell-tale sign, the pouch scorched hot against her thigh from where she had strapped it earlier, en-route to her home and having just narrowly avoided Jack and Tom from chasing her down.

" It's such a shame we didn't manage to catch you earlier; and since that _nice _gentleman offering that reward money for the return of it; has skedaddled to his posh-folk; it seems we have no choice but to relieve you of that wallet. So..."

Hermione's elbow obtained a nasty cut the second time he pushed her into the brick wall. "Where is it?!"

She opened her mouth to shriek in indignation -- thieves never stole from other thieves!-- to only have Jack over by her in her flash, a strong hand across her mouth. Jack's sidekick however seemed completely disinterested in the situation and was currently counting the bricks on the wall- "One two three, one two three, one two three," Clearly never having learnt there were more numbers than three. She considered biting him; but found her lips were too tightly meshed together.

"You remember George, right?" he whispered, almost as if he was using Tom's loud, distracting counting, to be tender. Hermione nodded. How could she not know him?

George was six; Jack's brother, and the real sweetheart of the trio. With a pang, Hermione realised Jack had been that way once too- but poverty, wisdom, and suffering had changed him to the cruel, bitter sixteen year old he was today. George had been involved in a cart accident when he just six months of age, his mother having decided a newborn would just be another burden in life had left him abandoned on a carriage track, thinking a well- suited gentleman would discover him and take pity.

That night; she had left Jack too, just ten years of age, and having packed her few belongings had set off for a better life in the "city." Jack had been too young to know that they were already in the most boisterous, wealthy city of the times and she would not send for him and his brother, once she'd settled down. She had lied, and Jack had believed her and now, he trusted no-one asides George.

The very night Jack's mother had left, with blood still coating the dress she gave birth in; in the dead of a night, a carriage had driven over George's small body, and was only alerted to him until shrieks of pain, anger and loneliness alerted the driver to stop.

They had found out a wheel had driven over his leg; just above the thigh, but under the waist and the doctor had no choice but to amputate the leg.

It was a miracle that George was still alive.

But Jack; being the cruel heartless bastard he was, used George's disability to his advantage. Making money from concerned passer-bys for the boy without the leg. Hermione supposed she couldn't blame him though. It raked in the money and that was all that counted.

" George loves you, Hermione," and Hermione's heart lept in her chest. He gave a dry chuckle that did not seem to reach his heart. " Maybe not like I have done; but he truly idolises you, thinks you the bonniest lass to ever set eyes upon."

Hermione felt tempted to roll her eyes, suddenly feeling rather put out. George was too young to think girls, lest of all her, bonny. It was clear Jack was lying through the skin of his teeth and Hermione didn't know what angered her more- his lies or the fact he dared to use his _brother _as the source of those lies.

Jack's words clipped her, almost as if had practised them in front of a mirror. " Do you know how much it pained him when you didn't stop when he called you? He burst out crying, he did."

It was lies. All of it. George had only spoken to her because his brother programmed it in him. George hadn't even shed a tear, she was sure of it. But of course, this was Jack, having to spread lies to make his sleep all the more sweeter.

"So for his sake," he breathed sweetly into her ear. "Please give us that wallet. Don't you want him to smile? To make him extraordinarily happy? Or are you extremely cruel, just like your father?"

It was like an arrow to the chest. Hermione shrieked in outrage and fiercely bit into the palm of his hand. He jumped away; cursing all the while; whilst he clutched one hand with the other.

"It is not I, who is the cruel one," Hermione rebuffed fiercely. "You leave your brother, out in the cold, for hours on end, just to search for a girl whom has a few pennies in her pocket. He's probably scared sick right now. Worried half to death, to where his swine of a brother could be. If he does shed any tears, it is for you, not me!"

And with that, she was off, passing Tom who had lost his count on the bricks and was staring all over again.

When Jack roared seconds later; Hermione could hear there was more than rage in his tone.

There was guilt.

* * *

The docks were devoid of people by the time she reached it. Aside for a few majestic ships tethered to the port; all that greeted her was a salty sea breeze and the inky black swells of the sea as it crashed, time and time again, against the decks. She breathed a sigh of relief, before collapsing on the sandy dunes in exhaustion. Flat on her back, she could already see the twinkles of stars awashing the dark sky with beacons of mini-lights.

With the distant roar, of the angry sea and the soft _creak _of a mast rope as it swung freely, Hermione floated away into the night, rising higher and higher until she was just another star. Gleaming into the night; and guiding all those lost in sea to safety. Pulsing a deep gold, as she hung in timeless oblivion; her heart bursting out of her chest to shower her with energy as the sun peaked over the horizon, and the moon swam away, her stars following her with such hope and trust-

A sudden shout in the distance sent Hermione crashing back down to Earth, as she scrambled to her knees and made feeble attempts to dust the sandy grains from her dress.

"I think she went that way, Freddie-"

The shout sent panic shooting up her veins as she started running as hard and fast as possible away from the shouts. This coincidentally lead to the sea; but this didn't register as she realised that Jack was leading Freddie--her one and only beast of a father--towards the sea! Hermione had never called her father Freddie, but then she never had to--he was her father.

In their world, everyone from the young to the old, were know by their first names but yet hearing her father's from Jack's lips, felt extremely _wrong_.

The sound of footsteps were getting closer and Hermione knew if she did not hide away soon, then all in the world was lost.

"That stupid girl- she'll get a proper good hiding from me when she's found-"

The big cargo box looked perfect. It was resting on the decks, close to the sea, but not close enough, that it was in danger of being dragged away by the tides. Plugging her nose close, she shifted the wooden crate lid with one hand; eyeing the stored vegetables with distaste. But on the otherhand- it didn't look rotten, so Hermione gently eased herself in, swinging one leg in, then the other before using both hands to slide the lid back into place. She was scratched by wooden flints more than once; but the distracting pain of biting her lips seemed bearable enough.

Entire blackness. She couldn't see a thing; not that she'd wanted to. Huddled in a ball, Hermione rocked forward and backward, her heart hammering in her chest with every hint of a noise.

She heard footsteps pause nearby and she held her breath; waiting for the moment it'd be on it's way again. Then, at least, she could get out of this slightly pungent box, and escape into the roads out of London.

"She's here, I know it,"

The hiss made her almost shriek but instead, Hermione gasped, burying her head into her dress, as she waited patiently for the footsteps to walk away...Why couldn't she hear anything?

Hear..

Anything..

At..

All....

* * *

A/N: Whoa, three updates in a week! I'm officially wiped out :) But why do I still feel like writing???

Fuel my passion. Please review.


	4. Stuck in the middle of nowhere

A/N: Sorry to the people who've already read this. Fanfiction has been a bit weird lately, but I think it's all sorted now :)

* * *

Chapter Four: Stuck in the middle of nowhere

* * *

She was blanketed in darkness. Hermione didn't know which way was up or down. Only that she was not meant to be here and something was horrifically _wrong. _

As if the dark was aware she was awake; a light from the heavens broke through, causing Hermione to shield her eyes in pain. By the time she had lowered her hands, her mind was in total array. Her mother. Chained to a chair, her head bowed whilst a white spotlight pinned her to her seat.

"Mother?"

Her short gasp echoed through the blankness, and then there was another brighter spotlight glaring upon her. Eveline looked up with vindication; her sunken cheeks accentuating her narrow cheekbones. Her wild, crazy eyes searched wildly through the darkness, until they vengefully found her fixed to the spot, mouth agape and tears streaming down her face.

"You!" she spat. "You killed me!"

Hermione could feel her bones trembling in fear. She had never seen her mother look so caged; angry and hostile towards her. " I..I..."

"You killed her!"

The furious voice sent Hermione spinning around in panic, and she gulped as her father stepped forward out of nothingness, his normally sharp brown eyes a distant blur. And then hundreds of voices were crowding in; fighting over each other to be heard but yet no-one dared to step into the light. Almost as if they preferred the dark, where they could lurk for the rest of eternity.

"You might as well as put the noose around her neck-"

"Or slid a dagger deep into her guts-"

"Let a bloodletter gouge out her eyes-"

"Such pain-"

"Misery-"

"She should have let you die instead of letting you suckle-"

"Weakened her-"

"Such hatred everytime she saw you-"

"STOP!"

By the time Hermione had let her eyes snap open from her nightmare, it was too late. She could feel her lower eyelashes coated with teary droplets as she rubbed her eyes furiously.

For a while, she lay in the darkness so uncannily like the one in the dream. Logically, Hermione knew her mother hadn't been ill because she had given birth to her daughter but rather the weakened immune system after it. Just three short years after Hermione's birth, her mother had caught scarlet fever and although it had passed soon after, the side effects had left her body vulnerable to violent aftershocks.

Sometimes she had been strong enough to go out- but on others she had been barely strong enough to go to the lavatory pot.

Hermione sniffled as she tucked her hands under her right cheek. They had all known. Eveline Granger's cards were marked as soon as she started vomiting blood. But somehow she had hung on- even if just to welcome Hermione home when she crept into her room past sunset. Or to kiss Hermione's muddied forehead when she lent over the bed, so Eveline didn't have to lean up.

It was just her dreams. All her insecurities and doubts playing havoc on her mind. She knew all those voices were not true, but yet every single one had been a blow to her system.

Hermione stiffened when she heard the creak of a door, and the heavy clods of boots. Was her father and Jack still out there? What time was it? Shambles, she hadn't meant to fall asleep! The whole purpose of hiding in the cargo box was to hide from her father (and Jack) until the coast was clear.

Hermione settled down again, as she tucked her head into the hollow of her bent elbow. Now all she had to do was wait for the door to close....

She sat up so abruptly that her head banged against the lid of the box, having forgotten it was low in the first place. She cursed, whilst her frantic thoughts threatened to keel her over in shock. The cargo box had been _outside _when she climbed in, without a hint of a door for miles around. So why was a door creaking open when theoretically there was no door to speak off?

"What was that?!"

The sudden hiss made Hermione clutch to her high horses, rubbing her head from the swollen bruise no-doubtedly itching to break through her skull.

The other voice, however, was definitely _not _a hiss."What was what? Lighten up Blaise my boy, and come have a bottle of rum with me!" Instead it boomed and galloped around the room in such heartiness and good cheer that Hermione almost felt like breaking out a bottle of wine. Not that she knew how it tasted like.

"Sssh! I definitely heard something!"

For a while, tense silence filled the room before another hearty cheer broke the peace. "Blaise! I know you take the responsibilities of a quartermaster very seriously- but lighten up, my dear boy! Have a bottle of rum!"

Hermione's ear was practically plastered to the wall, when a short bark of pain followed the offer of good-will.

"You will not, Crabbe," the voice identified as Blaise hissed, " Offer a bottle of rum to the quartermaster! To anybody in fact... including yourself. Everything in this ship is to be shared, you hear? And if I catch you sneaking of for some shut-eye or brandy during your hours of duty, the next punishment will be much worse than cutting of a lock of hair-"

Hermione gulped. Apparently only Blaise knew the secret to cutting off a lock of hair in the most painful manner possible. Either that or "Crabbe" had the sensitivity of an elephant's foot.

"Do. You. Understand?"

Crabbe's voice no longer sounded jovial or pleasant. Instead he sounded down-right scared and quivering to his boots. "No sir, I mean, yes sir, I understand my next punishment will be more worse than cutting my hair although," he hastily backtracked. "I'm not in any rush to find out what it is-"

"Good."

Uh-oh. If Hermione's ears serviced her correctly, then she was on a SHIP!! With loud, obnoxious, possibly sweaty men...This was not good. This was as far away from the country one could get. She had to get out of the ship before it left the dock! England was her home and country. Somehow the idea of being suspended on thick, ravaging rapids with no land underneath to keep her rooted, made Hermione panic more than it should of. The earlier nightmare, now firmly and surely pushed to the back of her mind.

A new one had just rather unfortunately, replaced it.

* * *

Blaise left shortly after and after counting to a hundred and twenty-nine, Crabbe had got up and lumbered off to. Now Hermione was left to her lonesome in a turmoil of thoughts.

"Alright," she spoke loudly to herself, confident that nobody outside would be able to hear. "Think the best route of plan, Hermione. Imagine you're six again and you want to escape enemy terrority. What would I do to win the game?"

Hermione thought for a while, before clicking her fingers abruptly. " Map out the frontlines of my foe!" she muttered, before banging her forehead against her palm. "If only this were a child's game!"

After finally plucking enough courage to peek out of her bedding place, Hermione slowly raised the lid of the box upward an inch, to leave enough room for her eyes to pick out the musky semi-darkness of her prison. There was barrels. Dozens and dozens of them. All packed neatly together in a civilised fashion. There were three coils of thick rope, thicker than her wrist even thrown uphazardly on the wooden planks that were nailed to the floor.

Although the room seemed in heavy usuage, with mutilpe foot tracks stretching the entire gridlock like a massive spider web, the dust on the untarnished parts of the floor proved how unclean the entire room was. Hermione wouldn't have been surprised if there was a dead rat or two in all this medlam.

That thought was enough to make Hermione to jump out of the crate and high-tail it to the exit of the room. From there the sound was obvious. She could hear crew members bustling about and in the loud din, could just make out raised voices. There was a set of navy blue clothes folded up neatly on the floor, looking like it were placed there yesterday, but the thin coating of dust proved otherwise.

She kicked it angrily, wondering how on earth she could have slept through the process of the cargo box being transported from the bay onto ship. She was normally such a light-sleeper! This situation was definitely queer.

" I think I'm going to be sea-sick!" the startled voice of a particular person sent Hermione into a flurry of motion. She jumped back from the closed wooden door with such speed and agility that she nearly tripped over a coil of rope. The voice had been closer than to her position then she would've liked, somewhere on the otherside of the door.

She plastered herself against the wall beside the door and shut her eyes in nausea.

"Theo, you vex my nerves. Why become a man of the sea if you hate it so much?!"

Theo, whoever he was, must have been extremely paranoid because he immediately retorted with, "Hush, he might hear! He'll not hesistate in killing and throwing me aboard if he doubted my sea-worthiness. We're headed to France! The last thing I want is to die a lonely death in the British Chanel- The British are so hostile to where we can die..."

Hermione would have laughed, if she hadn't felt a bout of dizziness overwhelm her. _France?_ British Chanel? God forbid...they weren't _actually _adrift, were they?

" Theo, stop with your skulduggery. We're _both _British. If you die in the British Chanel, then I'll give you my blessing. Now where the hell is that minion of a cook? And to think we share our loot with him!"

The friendly banter between the faceless pair was enough to stop the queasiness churning through her stomach. But even their playful jokes could not stop the feeling of dread enveloping her brain. So she was in a merchandising ship, headed to France. And there was a very good chance that below the sturdy floor, lay galleons and galleons of sea water.

The thought was enough to bring her to her knees.

The one called Theo exclaimed, " I have not seen him since we set voyage yesterday morning! That greedy bastard. He's probably holed in his cabin, enjoying his eggs whilst we starve out here like homing pigeons."

_Homing pigeons? _Hermione's mouth hung in a small _O. _Where did the Lord have the patience to make such idiotic men? _Homing pigeons? _Were they not well-fed and used as message carriers? It seemed even she knew more knowledge than men designated to work on a _merchandising _ship! The prospect of stepping outside and facing the unknown pair, was enough to make Hermione pause for thought.

Perhaps it was not a wise idea to announce her presence and demand to turn this ship around at once....She should stay put for a while and listen...

Yes, listen...

"Food. Mmpgh, what I wouldn't give for a pot roast." she could almost imagine the man biting his knuckles in sexual need. "And do you know the perfect person to feed me it?"

Hermione was curious, despite herself, for the answer. The answer however was enough to clap a hand around her mouth.

"Your mamma?" Theo supplied.

"NO! You scrawny thing! I mean a harlot! One who would let me lift up her dress and spank her buttocks the night away..." He started laughing, and repulsively Theo joined in as Hermione's eyes hardened in disgust. Men. They were all the same. Down to every single last one on the planet.

"Yes!" Theo snorted, as Hermione backed away from the door. But however far she went; the words still seemed to follow her, like poison. "What I wouldn't give for a woman--_any __woman--_to while the night away...For me to lie there as she takes me whole into her throat--" The excitement faded away, much to Hermione's relief, to only replaced by an almost _regretful _tone.

"Shame about captain rules though...No women aboard, hey? Why he must have been a depraved, depraved child to not let us transgress _one _measly little rule--"

This time, it was the other one besides Theo who was doing the shushing. " If he hears you, you will die! Blaise, that little muppet of his, will only too happily hand us over to the devil..."

The idea of exiting the cabin seemed all but a distant possibility now. And by listening to the conversation of two sexually depraved crew-members, it was obvious to why, in Hermione's mind.

* * *

A/N: A HUGE thanks to Saige and .Poisoned Scarlet. You both brought up the same issue that made me nod in agreement.

My issue with semi-colons.

First of all, I'm aware I seem to be having some type of love affair with semi-colons. Sorry about that. I just find them so addicting to put in *looks contrite*

I've been strict with myself for this chapter (in using sc's). PLEASE comment back and tell me if it's a job well-done or if some finetuning is needed. If the response is postive, I'll go ahead and re-edit the earlier chapters. If not, then I guess I need a _beta- _pronto (ish). much love ~ ink-wells


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